


Not a second too late.

by lumoon33



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Book 2: Wayward Son, Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, RESOLVED!!! romantic tension, Romantic Tension, Sort Of, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, im just giving myself the conversation we deserved, the book ended to soon, they r idiots and they r in love and i hate misscommunication tropes, wayward son, wayward son spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoon33/pseuds/lumoon33
Summary: “You’re way more stupid than I thought if you really think I’m going to stop now.”





	Not a second too late.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS ISNT SPOILER FREE if u havent read wayward son yet close this fic!!!  
listen,,, listen!! LISTENNNNNNNNNNNNNN  
i was so excited for this book i read it all in a few hours, and afterwards i was so frutrated with the ending i had to write this fic in a few hours to fix it  
i actually enjoyed it but misscommunication tropes are so DUMB and the book didnt give us the one (1) conversation we deserved. the entire story was like a build up for that one conversation and then- it never happened!!!! so im givin myself what i deserve!  
im sorry bc i was super emotional when i wrote this, it isnt beta'd and i tried to keep it as similar to canon and the book as possible, even tho i have written in first person like,,, twice in my entire life. i hope it doesn't suck
> 
> english isnt my first language, im sorry for any mistakes u can find. i hope u enjoy it!!

**BAZ**

I thought the flight to America could not have been more uncomfortable. Well, I was wrong. This return flight is making my whole skin crawl. 

I keep tossing and turning in my seat (I have even less space now than I did when we took our first plane, which makes no sense, I did not think it was possible). My bare arm keeps bumping against Snow’s, and it is such a small thing, but I feel buzzing, electrified.

There is so much I want to tell him (I _ have _ to tell him), but there is never enough time, it keeps slipping through my fingers (like him, I keep losing him). I just learnt that it is probable that I will live for thousand years, and yet, here I am, stuck in a plane, running out of time.

Snow is calm beside me, which is quite a rare sight. He is probably exhausted after the numerous near death experiences he has gone through this holiday. Even if he was used to the danger, months ago (what feels like another life), his body is different now, vulnerable, soft. Still strong, though. Still so beautiful. 

There are bags under his eyes, puffy with hours of sleep deprivation, gray with nightmares. I want to put my thumbs there, over the thin skin. I want to stroke the gray away and kiss the brightness back into his cheeks.

I curl my hands into fists and look out the window.

**SIMON**

_ Why can’t you see that I wouldn’t be happy anywhere without you? _

It keeps playing in my head, Baz’s voice, loud, desperate. And I don’t know what to make of it. I am so confused. 

When we first left London, I was sure whatever we had was minutes away from exploding into nothing. The whole road trip felt like a goodbye holiday. I could feel it, I could feel _ him,_ slipping away from me. It was all building up for the break up talk, he had found a place where he fit better than with me (he has never fitted with me. We are both broken pieces that keep scratching each other. We have never been close to a puzzle).

I was an asshole this road trip, I am painfully aware of it. I had never felt a jealousy like that before, not even when I caught Baz and Agatha holding hands in the woods, and I was _ double _jealous there, jealous of the both of them.

I don’t know how to handle it. The dread that runs through my whole body at the sole thought of Baz leaving me behind. I thought I had made peace with it, back in London. I thought I was ready to blow us up in pieces. But it is terrifying and I don’t know if I should beg him to stay or push him to run away. I _ know _ he would be better away from me. I _ thought _ that was what he wanted, after he met Lamb and learnt more about himself, about his kind. He would not have to be so lonely and lost anymore. He would not have to hide.

_ Why can’t you see that I wouldn’t be happy anywhere without you? _

Because I don’t understand how he can be happy anywhere near me. Not when I have been miserable for months. I am pathetic, a fuck up, a Normal, a know-nothing. I should accept that, get my wings removed forever and carry on with my life. I can’t even fight anymore. I can’t keep his pace. I am holding him back.

And the worst part is that I _ want _ to hold him back.

I look down at his hand, curled into a fist over his jeans. I want to hold it in my mine, ease up the tension in his white knuckles and hold on to dear life.

I want to hold him in my hands, his entire self. I want to trap him between my fingers and bring him close to my heart. I want to keep him there, under my ribs.

I am such a selfish asshole. I reach out and touch my fingers to Baz’s cold hand. He stirs next to me, I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, but I don’t look up. I work his fingers loose, thread mine between them, and hold on, at least for the few hours that we have left on this plane.

**BAZ**

There are trolls at Watford. Bunce has been screaming in my ear since we got off the plane. We are headed to hers and Snow’s apartment and she isn’t having any of it. She wants to run to Watford right now, with Shepard the Normal still with us, with Agatha untrained and wand-less, Simon still exhausted, the holes in his wings barely healed. Me, that all I want is to lie down in Simon’s bed, with him on top of me, or under me, or around me, and sleep for a week straight.

“What do you think we are going to find there?” I ask in a hushed voice, so the Normals that are surrounding us on the subway can’t listen to our conversation, “A hug from your mum and a thumbs up to fight? We’re probably wanted criminals in London after everything he did in America.”

“I will explain to her what went on! We stopped a vampire cult, we deserve medals!” The worst part about this conversation is that she is totally, completely serious. I just huff and roll my eyes.

“Penny,” Snow starts, he is standing in front of me, eyes to the ground. For a second, I think he is going grab Bunce’s hand and run all the way to Watford. “We’re beat,” he says, and my mouth quite literally hangs open. He has never been one to turn down a chance to fight. “We almost died so many times in the past week. I think the high magickal authorities can handle everything just fine without us. We should just go home.”

It is so weird to hear him say something like that, so out of character. And I know there is something else there, some of that self deprecating, low self esteem that has been messing up with his head since he lost his powers. I thought he could have let that behind, in America. He was so powerful there, so bright and mighty. His face is going pale again, and we have been in London for less than an hour. It breaks my heart.

But I don’t argue. I am going home. With him. To him.

**SIMON**

Penny isn’t talking to me. I guess she has every right to be mad at me, she has always tagged along to every single one of my battles, I have dragged her with me into all my messes without even asking first. But I just can’t see how we can help this time.

In America, fighting filled up with an energy so similar to magic, I genuinely thought I could go off. But if I stop and think about it rationally, I was all over the place, more of a nuisance than anything. I have to accept the fact that magic is not for me, it was never meant for me.

Baz is so full of magic. He is magic in its most refined, pure form. Perhaps that is why we can’t work out. He isn’t made for me, either.

I come out of the bathroom after a quick shower to find him lying in my bed. He is wearing his tight blue jeans and an old t-shirt that I am pretty sure is mine. It makes me feel hot inside, every time he puts on my clothes as if they were his too, as if we _ share _something. It is a nice feeling, warm on my cheeks, tickling my belly. But the dread I feel at the single thought of lying in bed next to Baz crushes every little nice thing.

I stand there awkwardly, my arms wrapped around myself. I feel so self conscious all of a sudden, I shouldn’t have left the bathroom without putting a shirt on.

Baz is looking at me now. He is still holding his phone, he was fiddling with it when I came out here, but his grip on it is slack now, as if he has forgotten why he was holding it in the first place. His gaze is on my face, he does not look away from my eyes (he doesn’t look lower, and I am so thankful. I am always so thankful for him).

He is scooting over in the bed now, making room for me. But I can’t move closer, my feet are walking backwards, leading me out of the room even if I haven’t told them to.

“I will take the couch,” I mumble. I turn around and reach for the door handle.

**BAZ**

I don’t think it is morally acceptable to use your vampire super speed to stop your boyfriend from walking out on you. But I am already holding Simon’s wrist before I even realize what I have done. I didn’t even think about it, I just really didn’t want him to leave me. It feels like he is always walking out on me, lately. It hurts.

“Hey,” I say, slow, deliberately soft. The memory of our fight at the hotel in America is still fresh behind my eyelids, what I want least right now is a repeat. “If someone here should take the couch, that’s me. It isn’t even my house.”

Snow turns around then. He looks like he wants to fight me, but he says nothing. His wrist is still between my fingers, so warm and alive. I count that as a win.

“But I was hoping… You know,” I nod towards the bed. Simon takes his wrist away. “Maybe we could share.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, with the wings and everything…”

He is bullshitting. He knows I don’t buy it, because he have shared a bed with his wings on the way before. A few days ago we were cuddling in the back of a truck with his wings around us. And even if it was uncomfortable to lie next to him like that, his wings aren’t even coming out of his back right now, Bunce spelt them away again when we got out of the plane.

Snow can see in my face that I know he’s bullshitting his way through this. I hope he only gets to see the annoyance and not the hurt.

“They could pop up again in my sleep, you know how it is,” he keeps trying to find a way out of this as gently as possible. He tries to let me down easy, it has been like this for months now.

“What’s different?” I say, running out of patience. The last time I waited to find the right moment to talk about it he almost died in front of me. “What changed in America? Back there, it was always yes, and now you can barely look at me.”

He winces at my words, as if I have just punched him. And maybe I just did, with words. I am not trying to sound accusatory, I don’t want to rush him (I would hate myself more than I already do if that ever happened). I am just so desperate to understand.

_ Please talk. Even if I don’t like what you have to say. Get it out of the way. _

“That’s just how it is,” he says. He _ growls._ He is avoiding my eyes, turning around to leave. He is always leaving, leaving, leaving me.

“But why!” My voice raises without my permission, but it makes him stop again, so I don’t regret it. “I thought things were getting better,” this is the first time I acknowledge things not being good in the first place (I am terrified). “But you are closing yourself off again! You’re so…”

_ Sad_, I want to say. _ So depressed and broken and lost, it hurts to look at you. I don’t know what to do to help you out. You are heartbroken and I am useless. And so in love with you, it is actually painful. _

**SIMON**

“So what?” I am screaming now, because it is the only way I can hide myself from Baz. “Pathetic? Ugly? Weak? _ Normal_? I am sorry I am not magic!”

I know I am being unfair to him. He is worried about me, it is written all over his face. He looks at me like I am something he has to fix, and that breaks me more than anything. Because there is nothing to fix here. I am not the guy he was interested in anymore. There is no fixing, and there is no way I will ever be what he wants.

I am going to do it. I am going to break up with him now so he doesn’t have to.

But then he mumbles: “Where did I go so wrong?”

“What?” Baz has to be kidding. He didn’t do anything wrong. It is me the one who fucked everything up. It seems that is the only thing of my nature that stuck with me after I lost everything I was.

I move towards him, as close as I can get without touching him.

“What do you mean?” He’s looking down. I look down too. We are both barefoot, one of my feet between his. I want to move and touch his cold skin. I can’t.

“I never told you-” Baz stops himself and takes a long breath.

I look up again to see him running a hand through his hair, exasperated. It is all tousled up, pushed back, out of his forehead. I want to reach out and touch, the same way I did in the back of the truck, a few nights ago. I want his cold hands to warm me up.

“I promised we could make it work,” he starts again, and fear crawls up my neck.

I don’t even know what I am scared of. It is okay if he is going to break up with me. I _ want _ to break up with him. He deserves more.

“I am sorry I suck at this, we should have talked it through a long time ago,” he keeps talking, and I just want him to go straight to the point. I feel a little dizzy. I curl my hand around his arm, for leverage. For something else. One last time. “I was supposed to make you see. To make you realize your worth. But you wouldn’t let me in. And I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” I am leaning closer to Baz, even if I am supposed to be walking out the door. I am supposed to be ending this, but he always draws me close. I always want him closer.

“No, it’s not,” and he is whispering now. His cold fingers find my neck, they make my breath catch, it gets trapped in my chest, lost between all the things I feel for him. I feel _ so much _.

“Yes, it is okay,” I gasp, and take a step back. His arm falls to his side. “It’s okay. I’m not what I used to be. I’m not what you first wanted. It’s done. It’s okay.”

**BAZ**

I am ashtonized at the amount of _ nonsense _ that is coming out of Snow’s mouth. How much worse can I be at this? How did I managed to make my boyfriend think I was breaking up with him when I was trying to tell him that I love him?

“No, Snow, you’re getting it wrong,” I reach out again, he slaps my hand away.

“I’m nothing now, I just keep dragging you down with me!” His cheeks are flushed, it is the first time there is color on his face since we set foot in London. I think he’s holding back tears.

“Snow, shut up for a moment-”

“You can go back to America as soon as Watford is safe. Go find the life you deserve there,” he keeps talking, moving his hands in the air and I just want him to shut up, shut up, shut up and listen. “You don’t have to stay here, lying on the couch with me. I’m so pathetic. How could you ever want-”

“Simon,” my voice is firm, hard as steel. It makes him shut up instantly. 

His name in my lips has always have the power to move mountains.

“You got it all wrong,” I grab his hands, they are so warm. He is so bright even when he is exhausted. So full of life (unlike me). “I’ve loved you through all the years at Watford,” I start, and his eyes go so wide I am not sure I am doing this right. But I _ have _ to tell him. He has to know before I lose him again. “I loved you when I thought I hated you. I’ve loved you through all the insults, I’ve loved you through every single fight. I’ve loved you though the war and after. I kept loving you when you stopped smiling. I’ve loved you on this couch, drowning on bloody cider. I’ve loved you all across America, and I’ve loved you all the way back. I’ve loved you through everything.”

I stop for a moment. Simon looks awestruck. Or maybe he is so angry he doesn’t know how to react. It feels like he has forgotten how to function. And I feel like I am doing it all wrong. It is as if I just stepped out of a cheap romantic comedy. If I was watching this movie, I would turn off the TV.

Simon’s hands are still in mine, sweaty and trembling. I squeeze and attempt a smile.

“You’re way more stupid than I thought if you really think I’m going to stop loving you now.”

**SIMON**

_ I’ve loved you through everything. _

I have to make a tremendous effort to not start crying right here and now, right in front of Baz. I don’t want to embarrass myself any further.

I think I am shaking, but Baz is holding on my hands so tightly I can’t be sure.

My mind was not ready for this. I had prepared myself for a bad fight. I had all the ammunition ready to shoot back and tear us apart. I was planning on an _ ending._ And I don’t know what to do with myself now. I just keep gaping at Baz.

It is hard to breathe. My heart is thrumming so hard I can actually feel it crawling up my throat. I want to say it back. I have had it on the tip of my tongue for so many months, but my heart won’t let me speak.

So I just slump against Baz. His hands sneak their way around my torso. All my insecurities are pooling on my stomach, I can feel them bubbling up, but I ignore them. I throw my arms around Baz and I press close, close, closer. My mouth is over his neck, I love the way it goes warm under my lips. I love the way Baz softens under my touch. I breathe him in and I _ ache._

I am so in love with him I think I could go off with the force of it.

**BAZ**

“I love you,” I keep mumbling. It is as if once I said it I unbottled up something inside me and now I can’t stop. “I love you, Snow.”

Simon isn’t saying it back, but I don’t care. Not when he is practically throwing himself at me. I can tell he is hiding, even if he is so close to me I could count every heartbeat.

I know him. I’ve known him better than I know myself for years. I can read he is self conscious in the tension of his back, in the way he hides his face in the crook of my neck when I try to pull away to look him in the eyes.

I let him hide. He can hide all he wants as long as it is with me. I don’t want him running away anymore, I don’t think I will be able to handle it.

One of my hands is still around his middle, I’m not planning on moving it any time soon, I want him here, burning against my palms, tucked under my chin, close to all my soft spots. My other hand is on his hair, I’m running my fingers through his messy curls, they are still wet from the shower. I can’t stop talking.

“I wish you could see yourself,” I am whispering in his ear. I know Simon is paying attention because his breath goes ragged, electrifying over my neck. He has always been like an electroshock through my bloodstream. “The way you fight, Snow. You are so powerful. Brighter than any mage I’ve ever known.”

He keeps shaking his head, his curls tickle my cheek and mouth. I fist my fingers in his hair, I am tempted to pull, I want to look him in the eyes. I want to kiss his lips raw.

“You’re so fierce, so brave.” I keep rambling, trying to reassure him. I am sure I don’t make any sense, but a world where Simon Snow isn’t aware of his power and beauty is cruel, it is wrong. I am sick and tired of it. “And the way you _ look_. Crowley, Snow. When you got that haircut, I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

He actually _ giggles _ against my jaw. I feel made of light.

**SIMON**

Every insecurity is still sitting heavy in my belly, but I keep ignoring them. I want to give myself this. I deserve it after months and months of feeling useless.

And I am still feeling like I will never be at Baz’s level, not anymore. But here he is, still pressed up against me even though I gave him the chance to run away. Even though I am always pushing him away from me, when I want him wrapped around me, just like this.

Baz is so warm and cold at the same time. He is steady, solid to the touch, and I love the way he goes weak under the pads of my fingers.

He won’t shut up. He keeps rambling on about how amazing I am. _ Has he even seen himself? _

But I am not in a position to argue. I feel bundled up inside, I feel dizzy and drunk on him. I want to drink all these beautiful words off his lips until I believe every single thing he’s mumbling about me.

I push him towards the bed, I fall hard on top of him. His bony shoulders and bony knees and bony hips hit all my soft places, but I don’t pull away. I move closer, desperate.

His mouth is so cold against my lips. Baz is so pliant under my weight. His hands are on my hair, making sure I don’t run away (I could never, I’ve tried). He keeps trying to sneak compliments between my lips, but his mouth falls open when I touch his jaw.

I push his sweet words with my tongue. I brush our lips together gently. I breathe his air into my lungs, I bite down at his thin skin until he goes raw and oh, so warm.

When I pull away to look at him, Baz’s eyes are glossy, his lips are blood red, and I swear I can see color in his cheeks. He is so lovely, I think I might be able to tell him.

**BAZ**

Simon looks fierce. He looks powerful and dangerous and mighty. He looks just the same way he does when he comes victorious out of a fight. And that is exactly what has happened, I think. He has won me over, I have surrendered with an open mouth and pliant hands and willing to give him everything and more.

I love this look on him. The rosy cheeks, the tousled curls, red lips and eyes so bright I have to squint to look up at him.

My hands are still in his hair, so I tug and pull him closer again.

I whisper my last confession against his lips.

“I hated America. I hated the sun, I hated the food, the landscapes. All of it.” The only thing I didn’t hate was his smile. So I tell him: “The only way I would ever come back is with you behind the wheel, Snow.”

**SIMON**

“Simon,” I say against Baz’s lips, choked up with emotion. I would be embarrassed if his eyes weren’t so soft for me.

“Simon,” he repeats, gentle, sweet, like marshmallow. My name sounds like a spell in his mouth. “I love you, Simon.”

And I have to kiss him again. My whole body is aching with need. But I have to tell him first.

“Me too,” I gasp, breathless. And I want to keep talking. I want to tell him properly. He deserves to hear it right. But he’s already drinking from my lips when I try to talk again.

There is a bang somewhere, I think it is the door opening, but I am too lost in Baz to be bothered by it.

“Guys!” It’s Penny’s voice, urgent and annoyed. I pull away from Baz, but I can’t look away from him. “Watford is on fire! We have to leave now!”

I actually laugh out loud. I rest my forehead against Baz’s collarbone and I laugh against his chest. Penny huffs from somewhere in the room.

I genuinely have no idea what good it would be for us to show up at Watford when it is burning down. I don’t think we would be of much use. But I don’t want to disappoint Penny ever again. And at this very moment, I feel pretty much invincible.

So I get off the bed and pull Baz up with me, our fingers intertwined, our palms pressed up together.

With him by my side, I feel like I can put down ten fires. And maybe start other twenty.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fanfic for this fandom, so i would rlly appreciate it if u told me what u thought about it! u are welcome to cry about the book in the comments. thank u for reading x


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